


Umbrellas

by EuterpesChild



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Umbrellas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8192890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EuterpesChild/pseuds/EuterpesChild
Summary: Originally written in 2012 and posted to deviantArt. I apologise for my childhood.Written for my friend Catherine because I was bored.





	

Lestrade thanked the barmaid and stared rather moodily at his martini. He plucked out the little paper umbrella that was the sole reason for ordering the martini, and twirled it idly. He'd never told anyone, but he found umbrellas strangely fascinating and attractive. He stared at the spinning spokes of the umbrella so intently that everything else in the pub seemed to disappear around him. He entered a state almost of hypnosis from the pattern on the umbrella. He hadn't realized his fascination was quite so intense.  
Greg was startled out of his reverie by a tap on the shoulder. He jumped and turned to see who it was. Mycroft stood there, abruptly close to Greg's shoulder. He had never noticed that Mycroft wore ties with an umbrella pattern. He found it oddly…  
"I need you to come with me," Mycroft said, jolting Lestrade out of his musings. Lestrade narrowed his eyes.  
"Why do I need to come with you?" he asked. He didn't know Mycroft very well, but if he was anything like his brother, being told to go with him was not a good thing.  
"I need you to help me with something, but I need you to come with me to do it." Mycroft answered, growing increasingly annoyed.  
"I'm a scary inspector from Scotland Yard," Greg said sarcastically, turning around in his stool to face Mycroft. "You sure you want to take me away with you?"  
"Quite sure," Mycroft answered. He turned on his heel and walked out of the pub, swinging the umbrella at his side that Greg had suddenly noticed. He turned back to the bar with a sigh and noticed the barista looking at him strangely. He slapped down some change, grabbed the paper umbrella and his coat, and followed Mycroft with a heavy sigh.  
Lestrade felt quite odd getting in a car with Mycroft Holmes, and was quite sure people would talk, but he got in anyway (what else could he do?) and found the paper umbrella in his pocket, Mycroft's umbrella tie, and Mycroft's umbrella on the floor between their seats strangely comforting. There was silence the entire way to Mycroft's office as Mycroft was generally not a social person, and Greg was too awkward to try to say something. By the time they reached Mycroft's office, the paper martini umbrella was rather tattered from all the worrying Greg's fingers had been doing to it.  
Once inside the building and Mycroft's ostentatious office, they sat awkwardly on either side of Mycroft's large mahogany desk. Mycroft broke the silence first.  
"I'm worried about my brother," he said finally. Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "I need you to help me in controlling his behavior. I think he's becoming entirely too protective of John Watson, and so is behaving irrationally and this obsession he has with the doctor, I believe, is inhibiting his ability to work and deduce properly and accurately." Lestrade stared at him for a second, not believing what he was hearing. He tried his best to ignore the umbrella that Mycroft was idly twirling on the floor.  
"I don't believe this," Greg said. "You think Sherlock is obsessed with John, and that's making him not as efficient? I completely disagree. I've never seen Sherlock more on form than he has been since John Watson came into his life. He makes deductions faster and more accurately than he ever did in the years he was helping us before Dr. Watson came along, and, dare I say it, more impressively than I've ever seen."  
"My point exactly," Mycroft said silkily. "He produces his deductions that quickly only to impress Dr. Watson."  
"Impress…" Lestrade started to laugh. "You mean to say- you think Sherlock is showing off to John? Why would he do that? You think he's…I don't know…in love with him or something?"  
Mycroft was not amused by Greg's words. He stood, walked around the desk, and perched on the edge, still twirling his umbrella. "I don't know what to think, Greg. That's why I need your help." he said.  
"What do you expect me to do?" Greg asked, still laughing slightly. His eyes kept flickering to Mycroft's umbrella more often now. It was a strange sort of draw, the umbrella and his eyes. His fingers crushed the paper umbrella unconsciously in his pocket. He stopped laughing awkwardly, his brain itching to do something, what it was he was not sure, to the umbrella.  
"I'm not entirely sure," Mycroft said, looking slightly embarrassed. He ran his fingers through his receding hairline. "You're the big scary inspector from Scotland Yard, aren't you? Do something big and scary. Ban Dr. Watson from crime scenes. Order Sherlock not to bring Dr. Watson. Something, anything! Can you tell I'm getting rather desperate?"  
Lestrade shook his head, both negating Mycroft's desperation and trying to get his increasing desperation for Mycroft's umbrella under control. "I don't understand what you're trying to do, Mycroft. Why are you bothering so much about what Sherlock is doing? What about him is making you so desperate?"  
Mycroft sighed and walked back to his side of the desk to sit down. "I have a spare room here if you want to stay the night. I'll take you to Scotland Yard in the morning." He began pulling out papers from his desk and looking through them, his umbrella resting against the side of the chair now that he was working. Lestrade stared at him. Was he just going to be dismissed like that? And Scotland Yard would have a field day if they found out he had stayed overnight with Mycroft. His eyes flicked to the umbrella and every impulse he had been trying to restrain went into overload. He stared, transfixed, at the umbrella, every rational thought gone from his mind. He had no idea what was happening to him, just that his brain needed that umbrella.  
  
Mycroft flicked through his papers, utterly bored with the words on the page. He had no idea why he had offered Greg his spare room, nor did he have any idea why he was asking him for help. Yes, he did think Sherlock had a problem with showing off for his little pet army doctor, and yes he did think something needed to be done, but why had he told Greg that he was getting desperate? Something about the Yard inspector made him flustered. He had no idea why; he was Mycroft Holmes, he never got flustered. He grabbed the handle of his umbrella and started twirling it without thinking. He glanced up unthinkingly and noticed that Greg was still sitting there. What was he doing? He suddenly noticed that the DI was staring rather fixedly at one point which appeared to be…his hand? No, his umbrella. His umbrella? What about his umbrella could be so fascinating? Mycroft's eyes wandered back to Greg, and he suddenly noticed the little flecks of gray in Greg's hair. It was almost silver, and a very striking color. Mycroft wondered how he could never have noticed it before. He had noted nearly everything else about Greg, how come he had never noticed his hair? He continued examining it, completely forgetting about his papers and utterly engrossed in examining the beautiful little flecks of silver scattered throughout Greg's otherwise completely black hair.  
  
Lestrade finally peeled his eyes away from Mycroft's spinning umbrella and looked up at Mycroft himself. To his utter astonishment, Mycroft was staring fixedly at…him? What could Mycroft possibly want with him? He tried to gauge where Mycroft's eyes actually were, and decided that Mycroft was actually staring at his hair. What could there be in his hair? He reached up to touch it to see if there was anything there. The movement of his hand to his head seemed to jar Mycroft out of his fixation, and he looked abruptly at Greg. Both men opened their mouths to say something, but their mouths closed again at almost the same time. They remained staring at each other, rather awkwardly, for quite a while. Neither of them were entirely sure how long, but all told (with all the hair- and umbrella-obsessing), it was probably close to two hours, leaving the time precariously close to midnight. Mycroft was the first to move. He broke the intensity by looking down at the desk, picking up his mobile, and typing out a quick text.

  
Mycroft broke the intense stare he was having with Greg (which was quickly becoming something close to passionate, if stares can be passionate) to send a quick text. "Come to my office tomorrow 9 AM. Need to talk about John. – MH" sent to Sherlock Holmes, the most annoying prick in the world, but still his brother, and no matter what had happened in both their lives, Mycroft had always taken care of Sherlock. He looked up and noticed that Greg was now perched on the side of his desk as opposed to sitting in his chair. (When had he begun calling him Greg in his mind? He had always been Lestrade, but Mycroft noticed that he had mentally been calling him Greg all evening, starting at least from when he walked in the pub.) Mycroft was trying to decide whether Greg was looking at his umbrella or at his umbrella tie, and it appeared that Greg was also trying to decide which one to look at. Mycroft felt rather flattered that he had found someone else who shared his love of umbrellas. Sherlock thought him idiotic, and everyone else didn't notice the tie and thought that the umbrella was to make him look cool. He looked at Greg more intently, and noticed that his pupils were dilated. If Mycroft had been able to see himself in a mirror, he would have been astonished and rather alarmed to find that his pupils were also dilated. Greg pulled a rather battered paper martini umbrella out of his pocket, and slowly proffered it. For a moment Mycroft thought Greg was going to stick it in his lapel, which, oddly enough, Mycroft wouldn't have minded, but instead Greg offered it to him.  
"No idea what I'm doing," he muttered, embarrassed. "Just sort of…I know you like umbrellas, so… Lapel?" Greg's cheeks were a bright red by now, but Mycroft decided to kindly ignore that fact (kindness? What was happening?) and took the paper umbrella. Their fingertips brushed, and it seemed as though a jolt of electricity shot through both men. They glanced at each other quickly, then looked away. Mycroft straightened the torn paper and bent spokes, and carefully placed the umbrella in a small bowl filled with clear stones that served as a paperweight and also as his PA's attempt to make the room less severe. Mycroft quickly glanced at the door to make sure it was closed, and, on a strange impulse, disconnected the intercom. He looked back at Greg, who was looking steadily at him. "So you like umbrellas?" Mycroft asked after a long pause.  
  
After a pause that was entirely too awkward, Mycroft asked him, "So you like umbrellas?" Greg flushed slightly and fished for a way to answer. "Yeah, I guess," he said lamely. Trying to explain, he said, "Well, I mean, my brain has some sort of obsession with them. I don't know if the rest of me likes them, but I just am sort of attracted to them somehow. Subconsciously." Mycroft gave him a small smile.  
"I know what you mean," he said. "I'm sort of attracted to them involuntarily also, but I realized that it is a healthy way to channel my obsessive tendencies, as opposed to the ways my brother chooses to express his. Primarily, he uses cigarettes, drugs on occasion, and now it appears to be this little army doctor who is giving me so much trouble."  
"Yeah, what is it with you and John?" Lestrade asked, unconsciously sliding around the corner of the desk so that he was almost directly in front of Mycroft. "Do you like him at all, or are you just jealous of your brother?"  
Mycroft recoiled slightly. "Jealous? Why on earth would I be jealous of my show-off brother?"  
Lestrade shrugged. "No idea," he said casually. "I would guess it would be because he's actually found someone who appreciates him, but from the little I know of you, I wouldn't think that's the case." It could have been just Greg's imagination, but he thought he saw Mycroft bristle slightly.  
"It's not relevant, in any case," he said stiffly. He moved as if to get up from his chair, but remained seated almost in spite of himself. "Did I ever tell you my favorite color is silver?" he asked suddenly. Greg looked at him in surprise.  
"No, you never had reason to," he said, rather cagily. "Why bring it up now?"  
A faint blush crept up Mycroft's neck. No, it couldn't be; Mycroft Holmes, blushing? But Greg was quite sure of what he saw. "Oh, no reason," Mycroft said, a bit too casually. "Just…you have rather an elegant spotting of gray around your temples."  
Greg's hand crept self-consciously up to his temples. "Really?" he said, now the one with a blush creeping up his skin. He looked around quickly to make sure the door was closed, then looked back at Mycroft, who was looking at him with a very odd look in his eye. Perhaps Mycroft Holmes did have emotions after all…  
  
  
John and Sherlock arrived at Mycroft's office at 9 A.M. on the dot. They told his PA that they had an appointment, and they sat down to wait. 10 minutes later, they were still waiting. John went back to the PA to ask, and she told him she had buzzed the intercom, but that there had been no reply. She buzzed again, but nothing happened. John decided to peek into Mycroft's office to see what he was doing that didn't permit him to answer the intercom. He peered through a small crack in the door, and all semblance of color drained from his face. By the time he had returned to sit next to Sherlock, he had turned quite a vibrant shade of green.  
"John, what's the matter?" Sherlock asked. "You've turned completely green. I had no idea the human complexion was capable of such a hue." John coughed several times and flapped his mouth like a fish before he was able to form any words.  
"Mycroft's a bit occupied," he finally managed, rather hoarsely. "If I'm not mistaken, he's engaged with Lestrade. I believe they are in the same chair, and I'm quite sure I don't want to know where Mycroft's hand is at the moment." Sherlock then broke into the most unusual expression: one of mischievous glee.  
"I see," he said. "Pardon me, I need to take a few blackmail photos." He then practically bounced from the chair and went over to the crack in the doorway. After examining the odd sight of Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade engaged in the act of making out quite thoroughly, Sherlock pulled out his phone and snapped several pictures. Some part, perhaps the fact that Sherlock stood there so long, of Sherlock's being at the door alerted the two men to the fact that they were being observed, and they quickly broke apart. Mycroft turned a furious shade of red and shot a venomous glare at Sherlock, who quickly turned and bounded back to John. "I believe we shall be able to speak to Mycroft quite soon," he said, hardly able to keep an enormous grin from spreading on his face. John simply stared at him, incredulous.  
Moments later, Greg Lestrade emerged from Mycroft's study, looking rather disheveled and buttoning up…his trousers, if John's eyes were to be believed. Sounding a bit hoarse, he said, "Mycroft will see you now." John and Sherlock rose together and walked to Mycroft's door, Sherlock taking in every inch of Lestrade's appearance and obviously deducing what had happened the previous night.  
They entered to see Mycroft looking unkempt – an odd look for him – and rather nervously straightening his waistcoat. Sherlock pulled out his phone, looking as if it were no more than a casual gesture, but also telling Mycroft in no uncertain terms that he had photographs and would be more than willing to use them. A smile barely hidden in his voice, Sherlock said, "You wanted to see me about something?"

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my two most popular fics on dA. I'm so sorry.


End file.
